Trouble
by 0-Jubiliana-0
Summary: Mr. Churchill is a really elegant cat, living in an expensive apartment and taking care of a human. The problem is - his human started to neglect him and one day without a premission brought another human to their house. It's outrageous! Mr. Churchill can be a forgiving owner but he starts to feel... Lonely.


**Trouble**

Arthur's cat often feels lonely.

That is – he doesn't show it even a little. To show that he feels bad because of such a trivial reason would be a disgrace for a cat with such an exquisite lineage as Mr. Churchill. Mr. Churchill with drooping ears and a ginger spot around his eye that reminds of a monocle is probably the most elegant cat in the neighborhood. He always walks with his head highly raised, his tail proudly lift up and he sharpens his claws only on the oldest and the most dignified trees in the area. Or on the furniture from the Louis XVI collection for what he is constantly thrown at the balcony, which he completely doesn't understand. The fact, that he chooses these antics means only that he has a excellent taste! But Mr. Churchill is an understanding owner. He never gets mad at Arthur.

For too long.

Yet lately Mr. Churchill feels even more lonely. He nervously gets around his neat apartment, peeps at the empty rooms, lounges comfortably at the bed and waits. Once he also had to wait but never for so long! He knew very well at which hour his ward would return, so he waited for him in front of the window and when he spotted a red car arriving at it's permanent parking place – at that time he would jump off with a natural nonchalance on one of the armchairs in the living room and ensconce himself properly – facing the exit door, pretending that in fact he sat in this place all day.

And surely he wasn't waiting for Arthur's hand to find this (Yes! Exactly this!) spot behind the ears, that makes Mr. Churchill forget for a moment about his dignity, as he leans his head and snuggles into a petting hand, purring like a kitten.

But Mr. Churchill is not ashamed because of that. After all, no one sees them here.

The problem is that lately something has interrupted this routine and Mr. Churchill doesn't understand it at all. He show his discontent in all possible manners – he moves away the bowl with his paw, tips the food (And this is downright ungentlemanly behaviour!)… Recently, as if by accident, he rubbed too hard on the vintage vase standing on the pedestal in the living room and then without a sign of guilt jumped off on the broken fragments of the Chinese porcelain. Then, observing horrified face of his ward, he moved towards the bedroom with his tail boastfully lift up.  
(And when Arthur finally got there, Mr. Churchill duly flattened himself against the bedding with his claws, so he couldn't be move. Arthur had to content himself with the couch, muttering something about "bloody furball". Mr. Churchill took honestly exception to this term!)

Yet nothing has helped. Arthur didn't understand and Mr. Churchill was patient, after all people as such couldn't match with their owners intelligence and subtlety, but even though the situation was becoming more and more unsettling.

And Mr. Churchill really didn't like to feel lonely.  
However one day a red car arrived at it's normal hour (or at least the one, that Mr. Churchill remembered). Surprised owner of the apartment looked out behind the heavy curtain and watched attentively this unexpected phenomenon. Deep inside his cat's soul he started to wonder how exactly should he react. Pretending to be offish for Arthur to understand his mistakes? Or rather to be a noble owner and forgive? It was an essential dilemma and before Mr. Churchill could reach a satisfying conclusion, the door has opened.

"I will forgive him!" though Mr. Churchill in all his clemency and soon he held out his head ready for petting, closing his eyes.

Instead of gentle and tender smooch something, what he later understood had to be a hand, virtually dented him into the armchair's plush. Mr. Churchill, lost Mr. Churchill what should be noted, hissed and bristled his fur, loosing some of his dignity.

When he finally raised his head, he saw a face leaning over him. A face that for certain didn't belong to Arthur. Yet Mr. Churchill was sure, that he hadn't took in any other human, especially since humans were nothing more than a trouble! Lady Mabel told him once, that she has four and taking care of them all is just exhausting.

And yet now Mr. Churchill had two people. What's more – without a warning! He glanced at Arthur with reproach. Regardless, he was able to understand and truly he was ready to sacrifice himself for the sake of his ward.  
But Arthur didn't even notice him. He didn't even pet him. Instead he started to laugh and speak in this strange, crunchy language to the other human.

And then they kissed.

In his presence!

Mr. Churchill acknowledged this as something outrageous and to demonstrate his discontent – he marched off from the room.

But no one went after him.

Offended, he sat for a long time in the kitchen, before he decided to see what's going on. Maybe they were preparing something special for him to apologize for this confusion? Maybe Arthur realized his mistakes and finally decided to compensate him?

But when he entered the living room he saw that Arthur and his new human are not making him delicious salmon dish. Instead they were seating and leaning on themselves, watching something in the noisy box. There was something in this scene that was even worse. Arthur was **petting** that man – something that he did **only** to Mr. Churchill.

Mr. Churchill was an elegant cat, but in that moment he put his ears down and meowed miserably.

No one even noticed him.

Suddenly he felt really lonely.  
Next few day dejected Mr. Churchill sat through on the window ledge, glowered at Arthur as he bustle happily around the apartment. He had never seen him being so cheery but that only rubbed salt into his cat's pride wounds. Again Arthur was leaving early and getting back late. Once he had came back in a strange, wobbly and really loudly state. That day he hadn't even look at Mr. Churchill.

The loneliness was becoming hurtful.

And then one day, that consisted mostly of another barely a dab on his head and disappearance in a red car, Arthur came back early as in the good old times. Mr. Churchill almost forgot how it's like and the sound of braking car (This sound! Mr. Churchill never mistook it for anything else!) made him jump inelegantly on the comfortable pillow he was occupying. Intrigued, surprised but still insulted Mr. Churchill looked out reluctantly. For sure Arthur again brought his human… And indeed so it was. Mr. Churchill sighed in cat's manner and got back on his pillow. He laid paws on his head and closed eyes.

He didn't want his Arthur's strange man again to push his head into the armchair's plush.

Yet nothing like that had happened. Instead something soft collapsed at the top of his head. Mr. Churchill raised his head in surprise only to encounter **something**.

**Something** was big, cream-colored and hairy. **Something** was much bigger than Mr. Churchill, it had an elongated muzzle, good-natured dark eyes and was puffing. A lot. **Something**, what noticed Mr. Churchill feeling an unpleasant tingling at the root of his tail, had long sharp teeth. **Something** has opened it's muzzle.

And barked.

"I thought that your kitty could use some company" stated Alfred, embracing Arthur. – And Roosevelt is the most chummy dog that this world has ever seen!

Mr. Churchill didn't hear his words, just as he didn't notice Roosevelt's chumminess. To say the truth right now Mr. Churchill was busy hanging somewhere near the very top of a curtain and meowing definitely inelegant.

Mr. Churchill didn't know yet that the loneliness that stubbornly stuck his heart was ceasing to exist. He would understand that only after a few weeks later, when finally he would surrender in rejecting Roosevelt, who for some reason insisted on sleeping with him. However first he had to be removed from the curtain, which was at last done by Arthur. Witch scratches all on his hands, caring in his arms a big, fluffy cat, Arthur again muttered something about the „bloody furball".

Mr. Churchill still took exception to this term.

* * *

I'm sorry for all the mistakes you can encounter in this text. Unfortunatelly I'm not native english speaker D:


End file.
